Jack Jackson
by Nadie2
Summary: When Daniel returns from ascension, the second time, he is left with some memories. Now, he has some big news for Jack, and Jack is going to get some answers he's been waiting for his whole life. This story is a reinterpretation of events, but is completely canon.
1. 2002 Part I

**SGC Briefing Room - Season 8, during 'Threads'**

"Jack," Daniel says tentatively at the end of the briefing. Daniel is still wearing an Air Force flag around his waist. "I was wondering if we could talk."

Jack glances down at the flag in surprise.

"Not now. Later, when I'm dressed, and we're off base."

"Ok… my house for beers and pizza?" Jack asks casually.

Daniel grins. The familiar request makes him want to hug Jack. In fact, he _would_ hug Jack if he had on pants. God, Daniel has missed him. He isn't sure how he could have possibly forgotten how much he missed him. "Sounds good, Jack. I've got something important to tell you. This time when I came back… I remember some things from my time as an ascended being."

"Anything of tactical importance?" Jack asks excitedly.

"Not exactly," Daniel says. He pauses. "Jack, how come you've never talked about your parents?"

"Why do you assume I had parents?" Jack says in a way that is clearly meant to be a joke, but comes off as a little too serious.

"Sorry, Jack," Daniel mutters, turning away. And Jack stands there stunned, because there was far too much emotion in the apology. It sounded like Daniel was apologizing for the fact that Jack had no parents.


	2. 1952

**On a plane of existence that is not ours, in season 6**

"God, he's amazing," Daniel says, holding his son in his arms.

"I told you. Ever since we've gotten married, I've been telling you we should have a baby," Sha're replies.

"Well, it's not like we had much of a chance. What with your being possessed by an alien parasite, your being pregnant with another man's baby, and then your death."

She glares at him for the cavalier way that talks about the pain. It was true that the horrible things that had happened to them in the past felt different now that they had some eternal inter-dimensional perspective, but she wasn't yet prepared to joke about it. "Jack's been rubbing off on you."

"Are you sure I haven't been rubbing off on Jack?" he asks.

"And there was the first year," she reminds him, "I wanted a baby that first year."

"I know, and I wasn't ready then. Stupid me, because this is amazing. But it's strange. We couldn't have had him then, could we have?" Daniel asks.

"So you know who he is?" Sha're asks.

"Yeah, I mind-shared with him the first time that I held him. I've never been so surprised in my entire life!" Daniel says with a laugh.

"The name we picked for him was pretty ironic. I mean, we named him after himself!" Sha're says.

"I'm not sure if I can drop him off like we were planning now. Now that I've meet him," Daniel says, giving the baby a squeeze.

Sha're looks at the two of them sadly, "We can't keep him, Daniel. We knew that before we had him. If he stays with us, he never grows up. When you're ascended, you don't age. If we keep him, he will be a newborn baby for all eternity. We go and drop him off on Earth like we planned, and he becomes the person we know he's meant to be."

"I can see who he is. We'll just stare his mind. We can keep him here forever," Daniel says, shifting the baby as he starts to whimper.

"Daniel, you know we can't do that. You really want to take our son from the world? You know what he is meant to do. You know what he will do. You're not really that selfish," Sha're says.

"I think I am," he says.

"Do you regret it now?" she asks worriedly. "Now that you are about to give him up, are you sorry that we ever had him?"

"No, I don't regret it. A little piece of me, and a little piece of you coming together to make a child? I can't regret that. And I definitely can't regret him. He's… amazing. I can't believe he's my son," he says in awe.

She giggles.

"Can we at least keep him for a few months before we drop him off?"

She nods her head slowly, "But no more than a few months."

**Our plane of existence, Chicago 1952**

"Help me descend him," Sha're whispers, "I've never done it before."

"Neither have I," Daniel whispers, but he reaches over, and put his hands on his son's head, and guides the infant into human form.

"I can't just leave him at the step. I have to go in with him," Daniel protests.

"We can't," Sha're says, "They'll want our names, and how could we explain it?"

"Damn it Sha're, it's a Catholic orphanage, and I glow!" he says, floating away from her.

His wife rolls his eyes.

"Father O'Neill?" Daniel says, trying to hide his smirk as he looks at the label on the door to the priest's office.

"Where did you come from?" the man says, looking startled. The he notices the baby in the man's arms, "That's not one of ours is it?"

"No, he's a donation," Daniel offers.

"You're his father?" the priest asks.

"Yes."

"Why are you giving your son away?" the priest asks.

"His mother and I can't take care of him."

"Because?" the priest prompts.

"Take him for a second," Daniel says, handing him over, before taking ascended form.

"You're… an angel?" the Father asks in shock.

"Not exactly, but close enough."

"Angels can have babies?" the priest asks in shock.

"Well, we're not exactly angels, and only a few other couples like us have ever chosen to do it. The problem comes in a bit later. See, we can have babies, but we can't raise them."

The priest's eyebrows furrow in sympathy.

"His mother and I, we're going to check in on him whenever we can. But it's not going to be enough. You're going to look after him for me, right?"

The priest nods. "What's his name?"

"Jonathan, but you will call him Jack. He can't have my last name. I'd be honored if you could give him yours," Daniel says.

The priest smiles, "That's a bit unusual."

"So is he."

"Well, he's the son of two angels. His mother is an angel too, right? He's not nephalim, is he?"

Daniel smiles, "You know your mythology. No, his mother is like me. But that's not why he's special. One day, he's going to do amazing things." His voice starts to crack with emotion. He's not sure he can do this. "I love him, can you tell him that? Tell him you met me once, and that I loved him. Can I hold him once more?"

The priest hands him over.

"Oh, Jack," Daniel mutters. "I promise I'm going to see you again. I… I want to stay with you. I can't, though. I know that sucks now, but there will be a day when you are going to understand. I swear one day, you are going to understand why I'm leaving you. I love you, buddy. I really do." He holds the tiny baby up to his forehead to have one last mind share with his son. It isn't as full and complete as he had before Jack was made mortal, but it's still something powerful. "Goodbye, Jack. I'm sorry, so sorry, son."

He hands the baby to the priest, and disappears into thin air.

**Note: I realize we have no evidence that a higher plane of existence makes you capable of time travel. If they could, you think Orlin would have done some time traveling to see if anyone ever came to his planet. But the Ancients did have time machines. Presumably the maintained the memory of how to build a time machine. So I'm picturing Daniel and Sha're using a time machine to move through time.**

**Now, I also know there is no evidence that Sha're ascended. I mean, she did have a Goa'uld in her at the time. But Oma once ascended a whole planet, I can't imagine she wouldn't do it for Daniel's wife. And that last moment when Sha're is looking at him… it sort of looked like Sha're was in control of the body. Anyway, I could have written this story where Oma was the mother of the baby, but it just seemed fast. You know, he was only gone a year, and he didn't know much about Oma before he left. So I decided Sha're ascended.**


	3. 1958

**Chicago, 1958**

"Get down from there!" Sister Mary Catherine shouts at the two boys on top of the roof. They were convinced that the wings they had made would be good enough to actually fly. Jonathan might have had a hand in the construction of the wings, but he had told them they were nowhere near good enough to fly. He'd been telling the boys that all morning. But as soon as the wings made, a sick little sputter of life in the shed, they'd been determined to give it a field testing.

"I can do it!" Matthew proclaims.

"You're going to get hurt!" Jonathan warns him.

"You're just a chicken," Matthew proclaims, as he take the leap off the barn. The wings hold in the extended position for a few seconds. The motor gives one powerful pump before it sputters and dies. One of the wings folds under Matthew, and he lands on it. It goes most of the way through him. The sight is so bad that it causes the good sister Mary Catherine to take the lord's name in vain.

"Get Sister Margaret, and then call for the doctor," Jonathan commands, whilst walking toward the injured boy. One of the smaller boys runs to obey.

"Cover your eyes!" Sister Mary Catherine begs of him.

The blood is squirting rhythmically, which means the injury is near the heart. This is not a good sign. Jonathan knows that he has to put his hand over where the blood is coming from. He doesn't know how he knows this, but he's become used to this by now. He frequently has knowledge about things he's never learned. The same knowledge is what allowed him to build the plane. If he'd had access to a bit of scrap metal, he might have made a successful engine. Wood just did not stand up to internal combustion very well.

As he puts his hand on the wound to apply pressure, something strange happens. His hand glows a bright yellow, and he feels power going out of him. His whole arm is tingling. In the strangeness, he also feels things that were torn apart being knit together.

He pulls his hand away, "Someone help me lift him off the wing," he commands.

"No!" Sister Mary Catherine says, "It will make him bled more. We have to wait until the doctor arrives."

"We don't have that much time," Jonathan says. The knowledge in his mind pricks him, reminding him that he should ask one person to come help him instead of 'someone' in order to overcome the phenomena of bystander effect. "James," he says, his voice sounding oddly pleading.

The boy is the youngest one there, only eight. And he's small for his age. All of this makes him more likely to listen to the commands of a boy younger than him.

He steps forward. Jonathan grabs onto Matthew's shoulder, and holds the plane down with his foot. James grabs onto the other shoulder.

"One, two, three," Jonathan says. Sister Mary Catherine was right about the increased blood flow. Jack had known that, but there was no use healing the boy around a wooden plank. The two small boys lay the bigger one down on the dirt, and Jonathan places his hand over the boy's wounds once more. James is close enough to see the glowing, and gasps in shock as he quickly backs his way back into the crowd.

Sister Margaret, the closest thing to a nurse the orphanage had, comes running up just then. She kneels beside the boy's body, and stares in confusion at Jonathan, and the light from his hands. But she doesn't interfere. After all, all she can do was apply pressure to the wound. He is doing that, and clearly something more. Something she doesn't understand.

The blood between his fingers has decreased from a pulse to an ooze. Then, slowly, the skin beneath his fingers begins to grow back. Jonathan could feel the pain which had been pulling from his brain through his arm and into the boy lessen.

A wave of dizziness and nausea warn him to stop, but he can't yet. The damage is healing, but Matthew is not yet safe. Jonathan knows he just has to awaken the bone marrow. More blood cells, more blood cells.

A snake of infection twists at the corner of the new skin. Jonathan twists his hand around to snuff it out. And then everything goes black.

A hand reaches for him in dismay, but she refuses to take a form tangible enough for touch. If she does, she will be seen. Her son is not alone. He is almost never alone. But she longs to touch her child. He even sleeps in a room full of other children. But, even from a distance, she heals him as much as she can.

**Much Later**

Jonathan isn't sure exactly where he is or what happened, and he isn't willing to open his eyes until he has answers to at least one of those questions. He listens closely, but doesn't hear a single sound. So he peeks an eye open.

Father O'Neill is sitting in a chair next to his bed. The man has a large book spread on his lap. The pointer and middle finger of his right hand are running under the words of the page. His left hand, however, is moving the beads of a rosary at a speed which could only mean prayer.

"Father?" Jonathan says, having decided that speech is his best tactic for getting information.

"Land sakes, Jack! We thought we'd lost you!" the priest exclaims.

The priest is the only one that calls Jonathan 'Jack'. The other boys call him Jonny, and the sisters call him Jonathan. None of them tasted quite right to Jonathan, but he'd decided to go with his 'given' name until he found a name that fit him. His name, after all, had been 'given' by his parents. And that, besides his physical body, was all his parents had given him.

"How is Matthew?" he asked.

"You saved that boy's life. Is it true what they say? He had a plank of wood right though his heart, and you healed him with light from your hand?" the priest askes excitedly.

"No, the wing wasn't through his heart. If it was, he would have been dead before I could get to him. The wing was through his abdomen," Jonathan replies without thinking.

"How did you know how to heal him?" the priest asks eagerly.

Jonathan thought about an answer the priest would accept. Maybe he should say God guided him, or an angel told him, or… No, one of the many rules of this place was that you didn't tell lies. It was one of the rules that Jonathan liked the best.

"I don't quite know, Father. I didn't expect it to happen. But once it started to… well, I just knew what I should be doing," he says.

The priest stares hard at him for a while before he says, "Jack, there are some things that I have been keeping from you. I figured I had plenty of time to tell you, before it became an issue. But you are coming of age much faster than I could have ever imagined, so it's time now. I met your father the night that he brought you here."

Jonathan sits up straight in bed. It causes a wave of dizziness, but he couldn't care less. He'd never thought to ask anyone around about his parents. He'd figured they'd have told him everything they knew. But, he realizes now, he should have seen it. He should have felt the secret. It's just like all the books that he loves to read. There was always an orphan, and there was always a secret.

"He was an angel," the man says.

Jonathan shakes his head.

"He was, my boy! I saw him with my own two eyes, and no mortal man could do that!"

"What did he look like? Did he have wings?" It's a trap, but Jonathan has his doubts if the trap will work. There are plenty of people who could be fooled into an eager 'yes'. But Father O'Neill probably knows his Bible well enough to know that angels don't have wings.

"No. He didn't even really have a body. At least, he _did_ have a body when he came in here. He looked just like a normal person at first. But then he handed you to me, and he make himself turn into an angel. It was just a glowing circle. There was a bit of his face left in the center, and there were spirals of light which could reach out and act like arms. I tell you, my boy, it makes you understand why people in the Bible felt such a temptation to bow down and worship angels. I felt a pulling at the knees myself."

"What did he look like before - when he was in human form?" Jonathan asks, not sure how to process this story. There is no doubt in his mind that the priest believes what he is saying, but the tale is to strange to believe.

"He was on the tall side, thin. He wore glasses. He had these bright blue eye, and brown hair. Nothing unique I suppose," the Father says.

Ever since Jonathan can remember, he's felt a longing to know who his parents were. This is the closest he'd ever come to them. The longing was now replaced by something else - cool anger.

"He loved you," the priest says. "I've never seen such love of a parent for a child. Of course," he says with a laugh, "I work in an orphanage. They're mostly left by ones who feel no love, and taken by ones who are just beginning to let the love grow. The love your father had for you? It was no beginning, my boy. It was fully formed love."

"Then why did he leave me?" Jonathan asks before he can stop himself. He may have the feelings of every other orphan in the world, but he doesn't always want others to know that.

"He said he couldn't raise you."

"Then why did he have me?"

"So you would exist!" the priest exclaims, as if it was self-evident. "Show me those hands. What kind of glow?" the priest asks, taking the child's hands into his own, and turning them over to examine the palm.

Jonathan tries to make it glow, but it won't obey his will, and the effort makes his head ache.

"That's ok, child, I shouldn't have asked. My curiosity put you at risk. You saved a boy's life last week," the priest says, trying to hide his disappointment.

"I put it in danger, before I saved him. Wait, last week? I've been asleep for a week?" Jonathan says, sounding stunned.

"That fool boy jumping off the roof wasn't your fault, even if you helped build the plane he did it with, and he would have died if not for you. And yes, you've been asleep for almost a week. The doctor said it was just sleep, you weren't unconscious or in a coma. He'd never seen anything like it before, but I guess he's never treated an angel before."

"Please don't call me that," Jonathan says quietly.

"Oh, don't worry, boy, I wouldn't call you that before your friends. But it's time that you knew you were different. Special. Do you have other special powers?" the man asks.

Jonathan thinks hard before he answers. "I don't know."

"I've talked to your teacher. She thinks that you read ahead so you can blurt the answers and embarrass her."

Jack sighs, it was just a showing of the sister's insecurity. "She's mostly mad because I used to correct her when she lied. I don't do that anymore. It makes her mad. Besides, now I understand that the other kids need lies at first. You can't understand the complexity of the universe the first time you run into it, and all simplifications are lies."

"So, you do read ahead?" the priest asks.

"I don't need to. There are just things I _know_. It's not everything. It's mostly just math, and science, but some of the social sciences as well. Never history or geography or literature."

"You read very well, though. I've seen you in mass."

"I suppose that is true," Jonathan says.

"When did you first learn to read? Your teacher mentioned you entered school reading."

"I'm not sure that I can ever remember not being able to read," he says.

"That's something special," the Father says. But in his mind there is envy.

Jonathan suddenly realizes something that has been eating at him for a long time. "I think sometimes I read minds," he whispers.

The priest jumps in surprise. But in his mind is something else. An image.

"I peridot monkey," Jonathan says slowly.

"What is peridot?" the Father asks.

"Green," he says, meeting the priest's eye.

"You shouldn't just read everyone's minds. It's… not polite," the priest says.

"I never try. It only happens sometimes by accident. Mostly when someone is pretending to be different than they are. Better than they are."

"Well, it's something," the priest says, "I'm not sure what you'll do with it."

"Is my father going to come back for me? Once I'm grown?" Jonathan asked.

The priest looks at him sadly, "He said he'd see you again, Jack. Whether or not it would be on this side of heaven I know not."


	4. 1969

**1969 - Chicago**

Father O'Neill is late for their Saturday chess match. He's never late for anything. Not for the three days a week Latin lessons or the twice weekly games of catch, and certainly not for the once a weekly chess match.

So, Jack heads to the priest's office to see what is wrong. Jack knocks on the door, but hears nothing from inside. He flings the door open to see the man lying on the floor. Jack runs over and puts his hand over the man's heart.

He can feel that the body is cold and stiff beneath the hand, and no light comes from Jack's hands, but that doesn't stop Jack from trying.

"Come on!" Jack shouts at the man, all to no avail. "Come on," he pleads through the tears. He has just lost the only family he's ever known.

**Several Days Later**

Jack had never minded mass before. It was only an hour out of his day, after all. Besides, when Father O'Neill was preaching, it was at least an interesting hour. Jack could just about be assured of running into some idea he'd never met before, and that was something no other part of his day assured him.

But Jack really didn't feel the need to go to a funeral mass for the good Father. The only reason he was there was because, even at seventeen, he hadn't been able to rid himself of the last traces of fear for the nuns.

He sat in the very last pew next to a stained glass window of his namesake - the Apostle John. The stained glass Apostle was writing a book clearly labeled 'Revelations'. Jack quickly corrects it in his head to 'Revelation'. But seventeen years on the planet Earth had finally taught him that people didn't like to be corrected. That being smart was always a bad thing. And that being alone was to be expected. Even more now when his only friend was dead.

As the service ends, Sister Margaret taps him on the shoulder. "Jonathan, I need to talk to you."

He nods and follows the sister into Father's office. He isn't sure that he wants to follow her. But he can't care enough to resist. He just doesn't feel like anything matters anymore.

"Jonathan," she says, sitting in Father O'Neill's chair, "I know you were very close to him."

Jack nods, standing as far away from the place where the priest died as he can.

"The Father had a cabin in Minnesota. He inherited it from his family a few years ago. I believe there is a bit of land and a small body of water involved as well. He hadn't been there since he was a child, but it is my understanding that a lot of his fond memories from childhood happened there."

Jack crosses his arms across his chest, wondering exactly what this has to do with him.

The sister looks directly into his eyes. "He left it to you, Jonathan. He left everything he had."

Jack feels his eyes feel with tears. "Everything?" he mutters.

The sister nods with a sad smile.

Jonathan walks over to the bookshelf and takes the Father's battered personal Bible. He holds it close to his chest. He'll deal with the rest later, but right now he needs to hold the thing that his friend most often held.

Sister Margaret bites her lip, "Jonathan, I also wanted to talk about your future."

Was she serious? Right now, he felt like his future should include nothing more than curling up in a ball and crying for a few decades.

"Jonathan, we've decided to give you your high school diploma. We probably should have done it a long time ago. Probably about the time that you entered school."

Jack doesn't say anything. His last eleven years of schooling consisted of little more than reading library books on whatever topic pleased him in a variety of age-appropriate classrooms.

"You have a home with us for another year if you want. But if you want to leave now, Jonathan, we would emancipate you. You have a house, and enough money to get by until you start a job. If you choose to stay, I think you should begin college or working."

He could leave?

No more nuns, or teenagers excluding and mocking him? No more spending his days reading? No more chapel?

What exactly would fill the gaps? What is he going to do tomorrow, the next day, for the rest of his life?

"Can I go?" he asks.

The sister nods.

Jack lays down on his bunk with Father O'Neill's Bible close to his chest. He stares at the bunk above his head until the other boys come to bed, and even much longer than that. But at some point in the early morning, he comes to a decision. He's going to move to Minnesota.

**A few days later – O'Neill Cabin**

"There aren't any fish in this pond, are there?" Jack mutters to himself as he sits on the dock with his feet dipped in the water. Luckily, this sudden revelation didn't seem to do much to diminish his desire to fish. This was a probably good thing, because there really wasn't that much else to do at the cabin.

The cabin was in good repair; he'd been worried that it might not be on the bus ride out here. But it was quite walk from town. If he had a car, it wouldn't have been bad, but as it was, it was a long heavy walk for supplies. And he'd have to get some sort of a job before long, which would mean even more walking. Of course, with a job, he should soon be able to afford a car.

His thoughts about the future are suddenly interrupted by a car rolling into the driveway. With a sudden happy thought, he finds himself hoping that it's Father O'Neill's family. He could really use family about now.

They were no priest's family though. They were a bunch of drunken teenagers.

"Dude, what are you doing here?" the most toasted of the group asks.

"Ah… I live here," Jack tells them.

"Dude," the tall one whines, "No one has lived here forever. We come here to party!"

"You want a beer?" the driver asks, looking at Jack.

"Ah… sure," he says.

"See, he's cool," the driver says, "I'm John Michaels," he says as he hands Jack a beer.

"I'm Jack O'Neill," he says.

"How old are you, exactly?" he asks.

"Seventeen, but I didn't run away or anything. I'm legally an adult," he justifies.

"Wow! So what do you do?" John asks.

"Fish," Jack mutters.

"Let me get this straight, your current career is fishing this pond?"

Yep, he knows there are no fish, Jack thinks to himself. "I don't know what I want to do," he says. There is a pause.

"Air Force, eh?" Jack says, turning to John.

"How did you know that?" John asks.

"Ah… You just mentioned it, didn't you?" Jack says nervously.

"No," John says drawing out the word.

Crap. A couple minutes after meeting people his age in his new home, and already he's revealed that he's a freak.

"I'm leaving for basic training in a couple of weeks," John says.

"Your number came up?" Jack asks.

"No, I volunteered. It's a family tradition. My grandpa, my daddy, four uncles, and two brothers are already fighting. My mother is none too pleased that I'm enlisted. I think she hoped I'd be an officer, and do college first. I think she was hoping that the war would be finished before I was went."

"But you want the war," Jack says, not sure he understands that.

"No, I don't want to go to war. I'm not about the glory. I want to… you know, there are people out there dying for us every day. I just want to - you know, save a few of them," he shrugs. The words are pretty powerful, but the things behind them are more powerful. Jack can read the pictures and feelings that are associated with the words. It makes something powerful swell up inside of him.

"How old are you?" Jack asks.

"Seventeen."

"You seem much older," Jack confesses.

"That's just because he's not drinking tonight. If he wasn't the designated driver tonight, he'd be as young as the rest of us," the wasted one says.

"Ah, shut up, Dave," John says.

Jack takes another swig of his beer. He decides that he likes beer. A lot.

"You like hockey?" John asks.

"I don't know," Jack admits.

"Dude! You have to come to my house and watch hockey!" John says.

It's the first time Jack has ever been invited anywhere by someone besides Father O'Neill.

**That night**

Jack startles awake in bed. He has some leftover terror from his dream. He can't remember exactly what the dream was about, but he does have a face. It's a beautiful face with breathtakingly intense blue eyes. It is framed with blond hair. It has a quirky smile that melts his heart.

He knows he has to save her, but he doesn't know how.

He lays back down, and he the feelings that John had when he thought about Vietnam come to his mind. "I want to save some of them," he'd said.

Jack is almost asleep that night when he hears the lullaby which sometimes visits him in his sleep. He opens his yes, and screams in terror. Floating above his bed is a giant beam of light. It's like a nebula or an octopus.

"Why are you fearful, my son?" the beam of light asks in a soft and feminine voice.

"Who are you?" he asks.

"Your mother," she laughs, "If you were alone, I would have shown myself to you all your life long. But now you shall know me."

"What are you?" he asks.

"I can't tell you that," she says slowly.

"Why did you abandon me?" he asks.

"I can't tell you that."

"What the hell can you tell me?" he says, sitting up.

"Don't swear, son," she scolds.

"Great, now I have an invisible mother who is scolding me," he groans.

"Speaking of that, son, you should take shorter showers?"

"Oh, for crying out loud!" he mumbles, rolling over.

"We don't have much time together," the glowing voice warns.

"Why?" he asks, turning back to her.

"You'll have no more privacy in war than you had in the orphanage," she says.

He wants to talk about the war thing, but he has more important questions he needs answered first, "What can I call you?' he asks.

"Mother," she says with a laugh.

He takes a deep breath, "Father O'Neill said he met my father."

"He did," and he can hear a smile in her voice, "He wouldn't let me leave you outside of the orphanage. He had to go in."

"He promised I'd see him again."

"You will."

"I've heard your voice a lot. I've never heard his," he accuses.

"I lost him, but my loss will be your gain."

"I don't know what the hell that means, but I've grown up without parents."

"It was unavoidable," she assures him.

"How do you know I'm going to war?" he asks, wondering if he'll be drafted.

She laughs, "You have to save someone."

"The girl in my dream?" he asks.

"No, but you're doing it for her. It's her father. And if you don't save her father, her brother will never be born. And if her brother isn't born, then his children will never be born, and…"

"I'm kind of getting the point here," he says.

"If you don't save him, she'll be an orphan."

"Her mom's dead?" he asks.

"Not yet. Now, let me look at you. You won't be a child for much longer," she says. Suddenly, he feels something powerful. Mother's love, and worry, and powerful loneliness. It was far more than mere mind reading, and he isn't quite sure what it is, but he knows he will never be the same.


	5. 1976

**1976**

Jack really hated it when it snowed in Colorado. It didn't happen very often, which just meant that when it did happen no-one knew quite what to do with it. There wasn't anyone on the roads. If he were in Chicago or Minnesota right now, they'd have the roads cleared already, despite the fact that it was still snowing. As it was, the whole world went dead. It was only a couple of inches, for crying out loud!

Jack's stomach suddenly sinks as he sees skid marks in the snow veering off the road. He pulls over and runs over to the other side of the road. You could call the place that the car fell either a huge ditch or a tiny cliff. Either way, a car is at the bottom of it. It's upside down, and the snow around it reveals no signs of someone escaping from the vehicle.

"Hello!" he calls, running toward the car. He knows that it's unlikely for anyone else to happen along this road today. He runs over to the driver's side, and sees that the driver is a woman about his own age. She's very beautiful, very blond, and very injured.

"Ma'am," he shouts at her.

She turns to him with a groggy look on his face. A confused smile crosses her face. "Not ma'am. Too young."

"Oh, I'm Air Force, you're all ma'ams to me," he says, opening the door.

"Uniform?" she asks, sounding excited.

He can't help but giggle, and wonders if she's going to regret that comment when she feels better? Assuming that she does feel better.

"I don't have my uniform with me right now," he says.

"You'll have to show it to me sometime," she says.

"It's a deal. Right now, can you tell me where you hurt?"

Her eyebrows furrow in confusion.

"Where is the pain?" he asks.

She starts to shrug, but screams in pain.

He really didn't want to have to use his powers on a stranger, but he doesn't see a choice. He knows he shouldn't move someone who might have spine injury without a team including at least one paramedic. And he knows that if she has to wait for him to get help she could freeze. He doesn't even know how long she's already been out here.

He starts his hands at her brain, and he discovers that there is a lot more than confusion that she has to clear from her head. There was damage to the spine, too, he discovers as he moves down. There is some internal bleeding, but it's not serious. The sort of thing a surgery could fix up, and he needs to leave himself enough strength to carry her into the truck.

"What did you just do?" she asks in awe.

"Please, don't tell anyone," is his only response.

"I wouldn't even know what to tell them! I have no idea what just happened."

"Ok, just don't tell them what happened. I'd rather not be carted off and studied like a lab rat," he says, unhooking her seat belt and catching her by the shoulders as he angles her out of the car.

"You saved my life, though, didn't you?" she asks.

He nods as he pulls her into a fireman carry.

"Thank you," she says, touching his face. "I think I can walk though."

"You're still bleeding internally. You'd better not. I'm sorry, I couldn't heal you all the way. If I'd continued, I'd have passed out, and I need to get you to the hospital. You'll need blood as well."

"Are you a doctor?" she asks, thinking that perhaps all of her dreams are coming true in the form of one man.

"Naw, like I said I'm Air Force."

"They have doctors."

"True, but I'm a college student."

"Me too, I was driving back from Colorado State to my dad's house," she says.

"And you choose to do this in a storm?" he asks with a raised eyebrow. He is finding walking up the cliff with a person in his arms difficult. Talking during it is even harder. But for some reason he really doesn't want the conversation to end.

"I come home every Thursday night. I don't have class on Friday, so I can spend three days with my dad. I'm all he has."

"What happened to your mom?" he asks.

"She was never in the picture. She and my dad parted ways at the hospital door," she says.

"I'm an orphan," he say suddenly, without warning.

"I'm sorry."

"A priest took real good care of me growing up. He's dead now," Jack says, heaving open passenger side of the pick-up.

"So the ability to heal people with your hands, it's from God?" he asks.

"I'm not sure. The priest thought I was part angel or something. My mom won't confirm or deny," he says as he buckles the seat belt for her.

"Wait your mom?" when he climbs in his side of the truck, "I thought you said you were an orphan."

"Right, but mom shows up as a…" he glances over at her, "You're going to think I'm nuts."

"Oh, come on, glowing healing hands saving my life. I won't think you're nuts."

He smiles as he pulls into the slippery road, "She visits now and then as a glowing light."

"Ah… ok?" she says.

"Apparently she lives on a higher plane of existence."

"And your dad? I mean, if they even have sexual reproduction on higher planes of existence." Her cheeks turn bright red at the word 'sex' crossing her lips.

"I'm not sure what's going on there. But I've been assured I will get to meet him someday," Jack mutters.

"What's your name?" the woman asks.

"Cadet Jack O'Neill," he responds.

"Sara Dalton," she offers with a smile.

"H or not?" he asks.

"My name is streamlined, I hate extra letters," she mutters.

"That's too bad, I've got two of them," he confesses.

She gives him a quizzical look, and he explains, "Well, 'c' and 'k' make the same sound don't they? And I've got two 'l's in the last name. Although, if you go with my given name "Jonathan' I would be down to one," he pauses, "Sorry, I'm babbling."

"That's ok," she says.

He glances at her while they are driving, and she sees something in his eyes she hasn't seen since she broke her arm doing bike stunts. Then, that look was in her father's eyes.

"What's your major, major?" she jokes.

"Ah… Cadet, and before that I was just an Airman," he mutters.

"Mustang," she says with a voice of appreciation.

"Yeah, astronomical engineering," he says.

"So you're a rocket scientist?" she teases.

"Not even close. I hope to be a pilot one day," he offers.

"I'm going for an English degree. I have no idea what I am going to do with it when I graduate. Dad asks me every time I see him, but…"

"You'll figure it out. There was a time when I had no idea what I wanted. And I still can't see too much more than a year in advance."

"Astronaut," Sara says firmly, "You're going to be an astronaut."

Jack laughs as he takes a corner gently. He's pulling into the hospital parking lot, and Sara finds herself wishing the drive was longer, emergency situation notwithstanding.

He parks in a loading and on loading zone, and she finds herself disappointed that he isn't going to come in with her. Then he reaches over, and places one of his hands on her stomach.

"No," she says, realizing what he's trying to do. She tries to pull away. But his grip on her is to firm. "You have to stop, or you'll hurt yourself," she pleads.

He ignores her, and the light continues. "Stop," she pleads, a bit louder.

He slumps, and the door opens.

"Are you all right?" a concerned bystander says. Apparently this is the day for knights on white horses.

"We were in a car accident," she offers. She figures that including Jack in the accident would be the best way to explain their injuries.

He raises an eyebrow at the intact pick-up.

"So we got out of my car, and into his pick-up," she explains, "Please help him."

"What were you doing sitting here? Bagging him to stop touching you," Mike asks.

Right, it would look like that, Sara thinks blushing, "That was nothing, can you help me get him to a doctor?" she asks.

-0-0-0-

When Jack opens his eyes he isn't quite sure where he is. When his head feels like it's going to explode, he's staring at the roof of an infirmary tent. This place looks more solid. Did they ship him out of theater? Wait, he's not in theater.

"Sara?" he calls out, trying to sit up. "Sara!" he calls louder, standing up despite the swirling of his head.

"You're the boy who saved her?" a man with Sara's eyes says.

"Yes, is she ok?" he asks.

"Better than you. They gave her some blood, and want to keep her overnight. Something about the spontaneous ending of internal bleeding. But I can't understand exactly why you were both in the accident, yet you had your truck out there."

"Both of us? I wasn't in the car." Jack says, confused. He'd been unconscious when Sara had developed that part of the lie.

"Then how did you get hurt?" he challenges.

"Ah…" Jack stammers.

"You know, I'd much rather find out that you are dating my daughter than that you are lying to me," Mike says.

"Dating your daughter?" Jack stammers.

"I can understand why she wouldn't want me to meet you. I did scare away a few of her would be boyfriends. But I won't do it this time," he promises.

"Sir, we're not…" Jack protests.

"Were you driving with her back from school, and you just left your pick-up near there?" Mike asks.

Jack gives up, and nods his head. It's as good an explanation as any.

"How long have you been dating my daughter?" he asks.

"Not long, sir," Jack says. Crap. That was the wrong answer, judging by Mike's face.

"Long enough that you're driving across the state with her. Where do you live? There or here?"

"Here sir, I'm a student at the Academy," Jack offers.

Mike take a step back in surprise, "That is a prestigious school," he says.

"Yes, sir."

"You've been in the Air Force long?" Mike asks.

Jack really doesn't want to answer that question. He knows how people feel about the war, and he just doesn't want to deal with it. "If you're asking if I served my country - yes, sir, I did. And I won't apologize for it."

"I wouldn't want you to," Mike says, "I saw action in Korea."

"Air Force?" Jack asks.

"Yep, I never made officer though. I left the Air Force a few months after I got back. Then I found out about Sara, and that I was either going to be a father by myself or not be a father at all."

"You made a good choice, sir," Jack says with a smile.

"I've never regretted it," Mike admits, "But you do know that Sara is very important to me. Very important."

Jack tries to hide a grin. He's being given an 'if you hurt her I'll get you' lecture from the father of someone he isn't even dating.

"I'd like to see her, if that's ok," Jack says.

Mike nods his head, "She's been worrying about you anyway. Blames herself for you being unconscious, but she wouldn't tell me why."

"I carried her up the hill to the car," Jack explains.

"Thank you for taking care of my girl," Mike says.

"I'm just glad I was there," Jack replies.

-0-0-0-

"Are you ok?" Sara asks as soon as Jack enters the room.

He nods his head, and surveys the room to make sure that they will not be overheard, "Yes, I always make a 100% recovery. I promise I'm fine."

"Good, I was worried," she says.

"How about you? You need some more help?" he asks.

"I'm good. They're just puzzled by how I could possibly be good," she says.

"I have that effect. So… your dad thinks we're dating."

Her eyebrows shot up, "Why?"

"Well, that is how he thinks we crashed your car this close to my pick-up. He thinks we're dating, and you didn't want him to know about it, because he's so scary."

"You corrected him right?" she asks.

"Ah… I didn't know how else to explain it, just tell him we broke up," he stammers.

She smiles, "Or we could not."

He turns to her in surprise, a smile on his face.

"Hey, I have a feeling we'll be together soon enough that a few weeks difference in the start of our relationship really won't matter," she says.

"I have a feeling you're right," he says.

"Can you tell the future?" she asks, suddenly alarmed.

"No! Sometimes Mom tells me the future, but she hasn't mentioned it, yet."

"Ask her about me next time you see her, huh?"

"Sounds like a deal," he says. "You have a phone number I could call?"

She grabs a pen, and writes two on his forearm. One has a "D" next to it and the other has a "C", and he realizes that it goes for her two different homes 'dad' and 'college'. The sensation of the pen on his arm is doing crazy things to his brain.

Sara suddenly leans forward in the hospital bed and plants on his lips a kiss that he will not soon forget.

"Don't lose them now."

"No worries about that," he says.


	6. 1979

**1979**

"Son, it's time you wake up," a voice calls to him, "It's your graduation/wedding day."

Nervous energy coils in Jack's stomach, "Is she the right one for me?"

"What do you think?" his mother says.

"Obviously I think she is, or I wouldn't have asked her to marry me. I love her with all of my heart, and I can't imagine my life without her. But I would really like to hear the answer to that question from someone who can actually tell the future."

"But that would take the adventure out of everything. If there were certainty, what would the point be?"

"It would be a whole lot less scary."

"You're asking me to read the last page of the book to you, but son, today is a pretty brilliant page. One you're going to dog ear and read over and over."

"You think I should marry Sara?" he asks directly.

"Yes, I'd be proud to have her as a daughter-in-law."

He sits up, "Can you tell me about my dad?"

He can hear the smile in her voice, "He would be unbelievably proud of you."

"When do I get to meet him?" Jack demands.

"Someday. Now get up! I am going to go say good morning to my daughter-in-law."

"Maybe not today, mom," Jack warns. Sara has met his mom several times, but she still screams every time his mother shows up. It's probably not the best way for her to start out her wedding day.

-0-0-0-

Jack is trying to make his way through the crowd to Sara. Graduation is over, and he wants to jockey for a good position in the crowds of people getting married at the chapel. He tried to talk her into a big wedding, but it was all to no avail.

Suddenly a man stops him. "Hi."

"Hi," Jack says dismissively, rocking up on his toes trying to see the woman who will be his wife in a couple of hours.

The man puts out his arm to stop him, "I just wanted to say congratulations."

"Ah… thanks," Jacks says, looking at the man for the first time. He is tall, and has glasses partially obscuring his brilliant blue eyes.

"And I'm proud of you," he adds.

"Who exactly are you?" Jack says.

"I'm no one, but you are something special," the man says before disappearing into the crowd.

Jack stands there, wondering about this odd encounter for a little bit. Then Sara grabs onto his arm, "Come on, honey! Or are you reconsidering marrying me?"

"Not a bit of it! I've been waiting a long time for this," he says, giving her a kiss before skipping through the crowd with her in tow.

-0-0-0-

"I got orders," Jack says as he walks into their apartment.

Sara flinches. She knew this was coming.

"Where?"

"Maxwell," he says.

"Congratulations, you're making officer," Sara says with a sad smile.

"Yeah, but Alabama is a long way from your school."

"Look, we knew this would probably happen. I graduate in eight months, two weeks and four days. That isn't too long," she says hopefully.

"The officer program is only nine week longs."

"But I know you're going to make pilot after that."

-0-0-0-

"Jack, you gonna play darts with us today?" Airman Williams says with a slap on Jack's back.

"No, man, he's wife has spring break!" Jonathan says.

"Ah… the missus is coming?" Sergeant Smithers says.

"Are we going to meet this legendary wife?" Williams says.

"You think he'd subject a fine woman like Sara to the likes of you?" Jonathan asks.

"We were going to invite you all over for a barbeque on Friday," Jack says.

"You're not cooking, are you?" Smithers asks.

"No, she is."

"And just to be clear, your wife cooks better than you do?" William asks.

"Oh, Sara cooks a LOT better than he does," Jonathan says, "Not that that is saying a whole lot."

"See ya, boys," Jack says.

-0-0-0-

When Sara catches sight of him at the airport she runs to him and leaps into her arms.

"Miss me?" he teases.

"Jack," she says, nearly in tears. He pulls her close to him, squeezing her until she feels secure. Then he sets her down on the ground.

She's almost in tears, "Hey," he says, lifting up her chin, "It's ok. Only three more months and we'll be together. We're even on the list for on base housing."

"I know," she says with a sigh, "But Colorado feels really lonely without you."

He wraps an arm around her as they walk. "I love you, babe."

"Jack," she pauses, and he looks at her, "I want to try to have a baby this weekend."

"What?" he asks shocked, "We were going to wait until after you got out of school."

"The baby wouldn't be here until I get out of school."

Jack does a little math in his head. He has five months of pilot training left. If Sara gets pregnant this weekend, he'd be free of it long before the baby came, "Ok, we'll try."

She leans her head against him, "Tell me everything."

"We talk on the phone every night," he says with a laugh.

"It's not enough," she pouts, "I swear, Jack, as soon as I get out of school, we are never going to be apart again. You'll be lucky if I let you out of my sight to pee."

"Sara, you can't say that for sure, I might get deployed."

She pulls away from him in horror. "You know something?"

"No," he says, grabbing her hand, "I was just saying…"

"Because it's not happening. No matter where they send you, I'm going. If they send you into a war zone they better reserve the bunk next to you for me!"

"Luckily you won't be having to share my fairly public bunk this week," he mutters.

She grins at him, and pulls him closer.


	7. 1980

**1980**

"Jack," a voice says.

Jack opens his eyes to peer at his floating mother. He glances over at his wife to make sure she's sleeping. Sara has not stopped being alarmed by his mother.

"Why did you turn the offer down?" his mother demands.

"I couldn't… black ops? You really want me to do black ops?" he asks. It's the sort of thing that mothers are usually talking their children _out _of.

"I don't _want_ you to do it. Just like I didn't want to leave you at the orphanage. But I had to."

"I'm getting a little sick of you telling me to do really dangerous things. You sent me to war, and now you want me to keep fighting."

"Son, you'd go back to Vietnam in a second if you thought it would save any of the people you fought next to."

He doesn't say anything, because they both know it is true.

"The people in the battle you're about to enter need you, son."

"Sara needs me," he says softly. He's moved twice in the last year, and there is still no news on the baby front. Both issues are making Sara feel pretty isolated.

"She'll be ok," his mom assures her.

Jack get up, and paces a bit. "Do you ever get to be a grandma?" he asks in frustration.

"Yes," his mother says with uncharacteristic directness.

"You have other kids?" Jack quips.

"Honey, you're going to have to be patient about fatherhood," Sha're says softly.

"You want me to go to another training? That's two more moves. Then I'll be going oversees again. That's going to make it a lot harder to have babies."

"Son, you have never been a patient one. Which is often a good thing. But you're going to have to be patient about the baby."

He doesn't notice the fact that he is using plurals and she is using the singular. But he tries not to let on that he noticed anything amiss.

"Jack?" Sara says, reaching to the empty spot in their bed.

"Mom is here," he warns.

She opens up his eyes, and looks at the floating beam.

"How ya been?" she says casually.

"Mom thinks I should go into special ops," Jack says.

"Really?" Sara says with raised eyebrows.

"I'm not going to do it unless you tell me to," he assures Sara.

She smiles, "I appreciate it Jack, but it is your choice."

"It's your choice, too. I'd be dragging you around the country even more than I already am. And it means I'd be deployed more."

She gets out of bed to give him a hug, "I married an Air Force man. I knew what I was getting myself into when it happened. You'll go," then she turns to his mother, "And you will make sure that he comes home to me."

**1982**

They never should have promoted him above Michaels, Jack thought grimly. That's where all the problems began. Michaels was twice the soldier that he would ever dream of being. If Michaels had been in charge of the mission, maybe everything wouldn't have gone FUBAR.

He could still see his friend's face, "Take care of Barbra for me." Jack had his hand right on Michael's chest, but it hadn't mattered. The light in his hand hadn't worked. His friend had died anyway.

"Jack," Sara says sitting down on the floor next to him.

How does she always find him? He thought the downstairs hall closet would be safe.

"Are you ok?" she asks.

It's a stupid question, and they both know it. So they sit in the silence for a little bit. Suddenly, Sara breaks into tears. He takes her into her arms, "I'm sorry. I'm… I'm going to try harder."

"I need you to be ok again," she says.

"I'm trying."

"We need you to be ok," she rephrases.

"We?" he asks, his brow furrowing.

"Jack, I'm pregnant," she says.

If anything can make him stop feeling depressed, it's going to be this. He's going to be a father. His mom was right, he had to learn to be more patient.

-0-0-0-

"Jack!" the voice is tearful and frantic.

He stands up and tries to find the sling of his P90 which is always over his shoulder. It's not there. Why the hell would he be in a dangerous situation unarmed?

"Jack!" the voice says with even more fear. No way, a soldier would ever be that fearful.

"Sara," he says, turning toward his wife. He sees the blood in the bed, and he feels like he's going to throw up.

"Jack," she says again.

"We've got to get you to the hospital," he says. He has to be strong for her. He has to… survive.

-0-0-0-

"Sir, you can go see your wife now," the nurse says.

He nods his head, but he can't get any words past the lump in his throat.

He comes and sits down in the chair next to her bed. He offers her his hand. She tries to stop crying.

"You ok?" he finally gets through the lump.

"They're letting me out in a few hours, but the baby…"

"I know," he cuts her off. He doesn't want to hear the words spoken.

She looks into his eyes and sees something there which rips out her heart. He is grieving in a way he's never grieved before. When his friends died, his eyes didn't look like that. The fact that he was an orphan didn't make him grieve like that. She's not sure if he's going to recover from this.

-0-0-0-

"You comfortable?" he asks, as he finishes arranging Sara in the freshly changed bed. He has her set up like she is a china doll, and the pillows are like bubble wrap surrounding her.

"I'm fine," she insists, "Come and join me."

"I think I am just going to stay up for a little bit," he says.

She nods, but he knows that she doesn't believe him. She knows why he wants to stay up, and she isn't going to stop him.

He walks into the living room, and lays down on the couch. He sobs long and hard. When all of his tears are gone he just keeps going through the motions of crying. The sobs come up through his gut, and out of his dry eyes.

It's his fault the baby died. He's ended the lives of so many. He deserved it.

-0-0-0-

He brings her breakfast in the bed he hasn't slept in since they lost the baby. He gives it to her without a single word. It's been two weeks since the baby died, and he barely says a word to her.

She grabs his arm, pleading with him with her eyes. "Love you, Jack." She wishes he would just have a cup of coffee with her. Any interaction that didn't reek of servitude.

"I have a mission today. I'll be out of town for a few weeks," he mutters.

It's the first she's heard of it. He always tells her in advance.

"Stay safe," she says.

He nods his head before leaving the room.

Why does he blame her? Is it her fault? She thought she was being so careful. She did everything the books told her to do. And still her baby died. And now her husband hates her.

-0-0-0-

The black car.

Her worse fear.

She hears the knocking but she won't open the door.

"Mrs. O'Neill."

No.

"Mrs. O'Neill, we need to talk to you about your husband."

She doesn't want to hear it.

"He's been injured."

Injured, not dead.

She opens the door.

"Your husband is in Germany. We arranged for you to fly up to meet him."

"How bad?" she asks.

"His skull is fractured, Ma'am," the airman says.

She grabs onto the frame of the house for support. He could have died. They could have left it like that, never having talked about losing the baby. And he would have been gone forever.

"When do I leave?" she asks.

"Would you be able to make five hours, Ma'am?" the airman asks.

"I could do five minutes," she assures him.

-0-0-0-

She stands in the doorway looking at him for a long time until she walks into the room. He is cringing.

"Jack," she says.

He turns to her quite suddenly. "Sara?"

"How are you?" she asks.

"Peachy."

"Jack," she warns.

He looks at her, "The hits just keep coming."

It's honest. It's gut wrenching honest. She doesn't know what to do with it.

"I'm sorry I couldn't… before… I should have…"

"I never should have let you leave without talking," she says.

"When I was crawling across that dessert, all I could think about was you. How horribly I treated you those last couple of weeks. You deserved better."

"I understand," she says hanging her head.

He looks at her in surprise, "What exactly do you understand."

"You… think it was my fault. It probably was, even though I don't know what I did wrong. I swear I tried to take care of the baby. I promise."

He laughs. The action obviously causes pain to his bandaged head. "It was my fault."

"What?" she asks.

"Cosmic payment for the crap I've done in black ops," he mutters.

"Oh, Jack, no," she says, trying hold onto his arm closer, "That's not why it happened."

"I don't know how to deal with this," Jack says.

"Grief sucks," Sara assures him, "But you can't shut me out. We have to grieve together."

She massages up and down his arm. "Now what, is this about crawling out of the desert?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"You're not allowed to cop out anymore. You have to talk," she tells him.

He lets out a long sigh, and begins talking. He doesn't stop until a nurse implores her to let him sleep.


	8. 1982

**1982**

Sha're hovers over her son's bed.

She wonders why he hasn't told the doctors.

Sometimes she wonders if he even knows. Then she will share a tiny part of his brain, and she'll feel his fear and uncertainty. He thinks this might be the end of his military career. At his worst moments he also thinks it is going to be the end of his marriage.

Suddenly he flings the boot he can't tie across the room. She can't just sit silently by and watch her son suffer anymore. Even if it isn't the best idea to reveal herself in a crowded hospital.

"Jack," she says softly, appearing as only the faintest change in light.

"What happened to me?" he asks, looking directly into her eyes, even though in this form there are almost no eyes to look into.

"I'm not sure," she says.

"Why do you know the answer to some questions and not to others!" he explains.

"Son, you got a skull fracture. Whatever is going on is obviously a consequence of that," she sooths, "It's not your fault."

"It doesn't really matter does it? Because I can't even tie my own shoe laces anymore! I'm like a baby!"

"You have to tell Sara. You have to tell the doctors."

"You want me to admit that I'm an infant again?"

"Maybe there is something they can do."

"I don't think so," he scoffs.

"Jack," she pleads in sympathy.

"I'll just… figure it out," he says, walking across the room to where his boot is. He picks it up shoves it violently on his foot, and starts trying to tie it again. He isn't having any more luck than he was the first time, and Sha're can tell that the boot is about to make another journey across the room.

She makes her hand go nearly corporeal, and slowly walks him through the process of tying his shoe. He does it himself, with a little hand guiding and mind reading help.

"It's going to be ok," she assures him.

-0-0-0-

"Jack!" Sara screams.

"I'm sorry," he says, frantically trying to stop the flow of coffee all over the counter. He's trying to stem the flood with his own hands. The liquid is burning him, but the doesn't pull away. She rushes over, and shoves the pot under the coffee maker to stop the flood. As she starts to soak up the mess with a rag, she steals a glance at her husband.

He looks thoroughly ashamed.

"Honey, what is going on?" she asks gently.

"I must have just… forgot," he says with a shrug which is anything but genuine.

"You're trying to tell me that you forgot how to make coffee?"

"I just… wasn't paying attention?" he tries.

"You've been making mistakes like this a lot lately, what's going on?"

"Nothing," he says, and this time his voice is edged in anger.

"It's been like this ever since your accident," she presses.

He didn't think she'd figure it out so quickly.

"I've been… re-learning a few things. It's not a big deal."

"I think it is a very big deal. You have to tell the doctors!" Sara insists.

"Please," he begs.

She sighs, "Honey, they might be able to help."

"They'll also take me off active duty," he says.

"Good!" she proclaims.

"Hey, you knew that I was in the Air Force when we got married. You shouldn't be surprised that I actually want to do things that have to do with the Air Force!"

"That's not what this is about and you know it. I just want them to take you off active duty until you get better. I don't want you getting hurt on a mission because you forgot how to fire your gun or go around corners the right way or something."

What she was saying was making a whole lot of sense, but he wasn't willing to give up quite yet.

"What about my team? They'll go on missions without me."

"They'll be fine for a little bit. You'll get better, and join them. You don't want the fact that you have something wrong with you to be the reason that someone on your team dies, do you?"

He knows she's right. He hands her the phone, and she makes a phone call to his doctor.

-0-0-0-

Usually when Jack comes back from his occupational therapy seasons he is in the foulest of moods. Today though he seemed unnaturally chipper.

"How did it go?" he asks.

"I'm cleared for activity duty again," he says cheerfully.

Sara's heart sinks.

He sees it.

"You know my offer still stands, Sara. If you ask me to quit the Air Force the next time that I get a chance, I will do that for you."

"We wouldn't survive my asking," she says.

"No, I would choose you," he says, taking her chin in his hand.

His mind reading is as much a curse as it is blessing. Most of the time men only know a small fraction of the things that goes on in their wiveswives' heads. They only know the things that make it into words or actions or body language for the astute. But Jack could look inside of her mind and heart and see it all. The tangle of emotions and thoughts and feeling which quite often Sara herself was only dimly aware. Things which were only half felt or thought before they retreated back into the quiet part of her psyche.

"I know it would be easier to get pregnant if I wasn't on missions so much. But if could be worse. Some divisions they deploy for months at a time. I'm almost never gone for more than a week or so."

She nods her head.

"I didn't die!" he protests against her mental worry.

"This time."

"Say the word, Sara," he says.

But she shakes her head. He knows what she's thinking. He knows that she's right. She can't really ask him to leave the Air Force. Not even if a small, scared part of him really wants her to.

**Authors Note: I've worked with several students with TBI (Traumatic Brain Injury). They are the most frustrated of any special needs people that I've worked with. They remember being able to do it, but just can't do that anymore. It's tough. I have Jack have a fairly mild TBI. They often, but not always go with skull fractures. Although, many TBI's don't have any damage to the skull.**


	9. 1984

**1984**

Jack's mother won't say another word about the baby he is supposed to patiently wait for. Jack is beginning to worry that that it was the one that Sara lost. Since then there has not been so much as a hint of pregnancy.

So Sara started taking hormone shots. It was brutal on her body, but she took them for a whole year. And still nothing happened.

Then they'd started in vitro. After a few months and not so few dollars they still had nothing to show for it.

Thoughts of adoption began to swirl in the edges of their minds. But if the other one happened to be mind reading when the other one was paying attention to the thought, it would immediately vaporize.

The thing that finally did Sara in was the next door neighbors becoming grandparents. They took care of the baby while the parents worked. They gawked over every second it was in their care. They would put the baby in a stroller and take turns walking it up and down the block, and cooing to it.

She didn't really need to tell Jack what her decision was. By this time, the mind-sharing between them was so fluid that they only resorted to words at all in public. And then only infrequently. Most of the time, they sat in a comfortable silence that was filled with far more than words.

The day after Sara made her decision he brought home pamphlets on adoption.

The day after that, he was called away quite suddenly on a black ops mission.

-0-0-0-

"I'm still alive!" his mind screamed as hard as it could. Just now, his mind was the only part of him that was capable of screaming anything.

He didn't even know if Cromwell could read his mind on a normal day. This man knew nothing about his special powers. At the distance he was at it, would have been difficult for even Sara to hear his thoughts.

"Please don't leave me!" he mentally screams.

And the helicopter takes off, and the swirl of dust chokes him.

Funny how he can still choke, even though he can't talk.

He isn't alone for long though. Swarms of the enemy surround them with their foreign chatter, and familiar thoughts.

He wishes he couldn't read their minds. It would be more comfortable to hate them, and he can't hate them when he knows them as well as he does. They are soldiers, doing nothing more than he would do if he were them. At least, so far.

They lift his body off the sand, and it hurts like hell. His body seems capable of groaning at least, even if speech eludes him. They throw him into the back of a truck.

He wonders if they'll at least give him medical care wherever they are going.

He's never felt so alone in his entire life. Suddenly, a single cloud forms in the sky above his head. The cloud looks strangely like the way his mother appears to him. She's with him. Even though, apparently, she can't do much to help or to warn.

-0-0-0-

He scratches her name into the sand. "Sara." Involuntarily, he forces his mind to remember her. Her looks, and her actions, and her thoughts, and the essence that was her and was beneath it all. If he could forget about her, he could just give up. He could become one of the empty people around him. Nothing more than a machine converting oxygen and sugar into energy and carbon dioxide. Just a hollow shell where a human used to reside.

But he can't give up, because she is waiting for him at home. He loves her. And somehow, against all logic, she loves him too.

-0-0-0-

"Come on!" a tall man with glasses shouts as the door flings open.

"What?" Jack staggers in surprise.

"You're free," the man says.

"Help me… get the others," Jack stammers, as he helps his fellow soldiers to his feet. "Are you black ops?" he has a feeling that he's seen this man before. If this man were involved in black ops, that wouldn't be a surprise. There were few enough teams that most of them ran a mission with the others at some point in time.

"Not exactly," the man replies.

"But Air Force?" he asks. There were people from every branch of the military in prison, but he had a strong feeling that this man had to be Air Force.

"Not exactly."

"What does that mean?"

"I have to go. Just keep heading that way," the man says pointing toward the horizon.

-0-0-0-

"Oh my God, Jack!" Sara sobs, "Are you ok? Of course you're not ok! You just spent six months in a prisoner of war camp!"

"I'm fine," he says, his speech muffled a bit by the intensity of her hug.

But the words are a lie. And mind readers needn't bother with lies.

"You're a long ways away from ok, sweetie, but we're going to get there together," she promises in her mind.

-0-0-0-

"But I don't deserve the medal!" he protests again.

"Of course you did. You arranged the escape of over fifty American POWs," the General says grumpily. He hates false modesty.

"I had very little to do with the actual escape. Sure, I led them across the desert, but even that direction was pointed out for me by the man who really did the saving."

The General lets out a long sigh, "I don't know why you keep insisting on talking about this man. No-one else remembers seeing this man!"

"But he was there! He opened up the door! How else would we have gotten free?"

"Everyone else who was there say that you are the one who opened up the door. One of the prison guards must have gotten careless, and left it open. Then you got everyone out, even carrying one of them the last little bit."

"So your theory is that I just hallucinated someone to help us all out of the desert?" Jack asks in dismay.

"If only everyone could have a hallucination like that," the General says sadly.

-0-0-0-

He decides that it's time to talk about it. Actually talk about it, instead of only think about it and let the other person overhear.

"Sara," he says.

She jumps. Actual sound is something the two have become quite unused to except when they are in public. In private, they tend to just think to one another.

"I think we should talk… about kids."

She starts to cry before any more words are said, and he pulls her into a comforting embrace. They don't share any words for a while, because they're really aren't any words for the emotions that they are feeling. No words anyway, that are as big as the emotions are.

"What about adoption?" he asks.

"I want a baby," she says.

There are a lot of emotions behind the words. Strong emotions. But he still isn't quite sure what she means by it.

"There are babies for adoption," he offers tentatively.

"I know," she says, "At first it was very important to me that it be our baby… yours and mine. I wanted to be able to see little bits of you and little bit so of me in it. But that isn't so important to me. I just want a baby."

"Thank goodness," he whispers.

"So you're open to adoption?" she asks.

"Very open to it. I spent a lot of nights wishing for it," he says. But his thoughts are not just about the last couple of years. She can feel his longing for adoption from back when he was a child. Back when he was looking at the other side of it.

She pulls away and looks into his face for a few seconds, "Sometimes I forget where you came from. What you've been through."

"Is it ok if we start at the orphanage where I grew up?" Jack asks her.

She nods, "That would be… amazing."

"So, I'll call up some people, and arrange a trip to Chicago," he says. He looks at her carefully, "You'll tell me if this is going too fast, right?"

"I've waited long enough," she replies.

-0-0-0-

Jack should have known better. Babies never lasted long at the orphanage. There were always waiting lists. Sara was building a block tower with a five year old, but he could already see from her face that he was unlikely to be called "Daddy" by the little boy.

If he wasn't going to be a member of his family, he didn't want to get attached. He'd wanted a kid so long that he could get attached to anything under 18 just by looking at them.

He decides to visit one of his old haunts. There was a small annex in one of the hallways. Perhaps at one point it had been a small cell for a monk or nun, or a closet, or it had perhaps been meant to be some sort of fine architecture. Whatever its purpose had originally been, its only use in the years that Jack lived here was an occasional hiding place for himself.

But as he turns into he discovers it already occupied.

"I'm sorry," he says in surprise, and turns to leave. But about that time he looks, really looks at the figure before him. It's a boy in his mid-teens. He's tall for his age. That sort of awkward tall, where you don't know what to do with yourself. The sort of tall that Jack himself was, not too many years back. The boy's eyes are framed in glasses and are focused on the book before him with the same focus that Jack focused on books when he lived here.

"Good book?" he asks.

"Mmm," the boy replies, tilting the book so Jack and see the title without making it so he has to pause his reading. It's not lost on Jack that it's the exact same motion he used to use to show his books to Pastor O'Neill.

"Wells? I loved those stories when I was about your age, actually. I've always been interested in stories about aliens."

The boy puts down the book. "Really?" he says suspiciously.

"Sure."

"Did Sister Mary Catherine send you in here to try to make me play baseball?"

"No, but I would suggest you play baseball, it's a great game. I used to come here all the time when I was a kid."

"You lived here?" the boy squeaks in surprise (making Jack glad that adolescence and its voice issues are behind him).

"Sure."

"But you…" he says, indicating Jack's shiny pins. Jack had forgotten that he was wearing his dress blues, complete with a bunch of medals he figures were earned by the dead. He hadn't wanted to wear it today, but Sara had insisted. She thought it would make them more likely to get a baby if they knew how respected he was. He figured it would hurt their chances. To him, it was like a giant blinking sign, "We are going to move a whole bunch of times. Yep, we're going to repeatedly uproot any baby you give us."

"Yeah, I'm Air Force now."

"You're like super Air Force. You're successful."

Jack laughs, "Why is that surprising?"

"Well, I mean… maybe foster care's different. See, I'm really a foster kid, I'm just staying here for a bit 'til they can find me a new home."

"Foster kids, orphanage kids, they can all be successful," Jack says. He knows that Sara wants a baby. But she didn't necessarily say ONLY a baby, and this kid is stealing his heart.

"What is your name?" Jack asks.

"Daniel."

"Hi Daniel, I'm Jack. What are you doing in here?"

"There is some couple coming to pick out a kid. I didn't want to be there," Daniel mutters.

Jack's stomach twists. He'd forgotten how much he hated to see other people get adopted. Especially when he'd gotten as old as Daniel is. When he was past all hope of getting adopted himself. He didn't really like being the cause of other kid's pain.

"It's ok, it really doesn't bother me anymore. Even if I were a little kid, they wouldn't pick me. I'm weird."

Jack hides a gasp. The kid just read his mind. It was only a partial reading, but still! Sara and his mother are the only ones who have done that before. Jack has read plenty of people's minds, but no one reads his. He doesn't want to react to it though, because it would be better for everyone involved if the kid never knew he'd read someone's mind.

"You know, your teen years are pretty strange. All the things that get you rejected and made fun of and bullied when you're a teen - these are exactly the things that open doors for you when you are an adult. You're in here reading instead of playing baseball, so you're probably smart."

Daniel shrugs, "I'm in college."

"How old are you?"

"Fifteen."

"Listen Daniel, I think you should come meet my wife."

Daniel's eyes get huge, "No way! You're the couple looking for a kid."

"Guilty," Jack says with a shrug.

"Do you need me to show you to the little kids?"

"Daniel, I'll admit we came her looking for a baby. But the best things in life are surprises. I want you to come meet my wife. I'm not promising anything. But I'd be open to…."

"What was that?" Daniel says, alarmed. "How could you say two things at once?"

Daniel was hearing his thoughts. His thoughts that involved him trying to figure out how open Sara would be to a fifteen year old son.

"I… don't know what you are talking about," Jack stammers.

"Your thoughts. I heard them," Daniel says.

"Look…" but it's pointless to say anything, because his thoughts have already explained to Daniel.

"You expect me to try to get adopted by someone who thinks he's an angel?"

"Actually, the priest thought I'm an angel. I'm pretty on the fence about this."

"I think I'll just… go find some place a little less creepy," Daniel says, cautiously backing away from Jack.

Jack wants to believe he's glad it ended that way. If it had to end, it is better that it ends with the kid rejecting him instead of Sara rejecting the kid. But the truth is, this rejection makes him feel like he is eight years old again, and being told that he can't play baseball. He's sick of being different.


	10. 1985

**1985**

He tried to keep the letter from her. It's another adoption that fell through. Who knew that adopting would be even harder than conceiving?

But she reads his thoughts.

"Maybe we should consider… an older child."

She knows about the Daniel that rejected him in the orphanage. He knows how badly she wants a baby that she can raise from the beginning.

They are both losing hope of ever having a child.

He feels guilty, because maybe they can't have a child, because he's not all human.

She feels guilty, because maybe there is something wrong with her body.

He feels guilty, because maybe they'd have a baby if he wasn't gone so much.

She feels guilty, because she lost a baby.

They know it's irrational, but they can't even absolve each other let alone themselves.

"If you would rather not…" he says.

"You were them once," she says.

He nods. Since seeing Daniel he has realized how much he wants to really help. Adopting a baby would be as selfish as having a baby. But adopting a child - that was a truly selfless act.

"I'm willing to be foster parents for a while, and see where things go from there," Sara says.

"Thank you."

-0-0-0-

He knows there is something wrong. But he just can't understand why she wouldn't be deliriously happy. He is. They have had two children living with them for almost a month now. Not that these kids are going to stay forever. Their mom, a repeat drug addict, hadn't released them for adoption, even though there wasn't that much chance of her getting her kids back.

Not that it was easy. They were emotionally-needy, time-consuming kids. But he loved every minute of it.

Of course, he wasn't with them all day.

He peeks in on them to make sure they are both in bed.

"You ok, Sara?" he asks. With other people in the house, they have gotten back in the habit of using words. Although, the mind reading is quite convenient when they want to say something in front of the kids. It also helps him help the kids deal with their issues. He can guess their feelings, and then make them talk about them.

"I'm fine," she says.

"Are you done with this experiment?" he asks.

"Those kids in there are not an experiment!" she exclaims angrily.

"I know. I'm sorry. I just meant, if you don't want to open up our house to children, we don't have to."

"That's the whole point; I don't want to cast the kids away. I love them!" she explains.

"Ok, so you're worried about their mom taking them back?"

"Yes, but that isn't most of the problem," she confesses.

Then her thoughts bursts into his head. His eyes go huge. "You're pregnant."

"It's really hard to keep a secret from a mind-reader," she whispers.

"Well, it seems that you managed for…"

"Two weeks," she says.

"Why?"

She just looks at him, and the horrible memory of the miscarriage pours through her mind. He pulls her into a tight hug.

"It's going to be ok. It's not going to happen this time," he assures her.

"You don't know that!"

"We're going to have our family, and it's even going to be a lot bigger than we thought it was."

"We don't have enough rooms for when the baby comes," she says, "But I don't want to buy a new house to accommodate kids that we might lose at any time." She's talking about the foster kids, but also the baby.

"Well, we could keep the baby in our room for a while, and I could… build another room."

"I should never keep problems from you. You're really good at solving them," she says with a contented sigh.

"Glad to hear it. When we tell the kids we're going to have to give them a whole bunch of reassurances that we're still going to love him."

"Jack, you are a really good Dad."

-0-0-0-

"Sara!" the girl screams, grabbing onto her.

"Honey," Jack says, bending down on the floor, "You're going back to your Mommy now."

"No, Jack. Please! I'll help take care of the new baby. I'll be a good girl. I promise. I'll never make a mistake again."

"Oh, baby, you are a good girl. You've always been a good girl. And you're going to be a good girl for your Mommy now."

"She doesn't read me stories," the girl protests.

"Maybe she will now that you have some books," Jack says, even though he doesn't believe it himself.

"I want to stay with you," the girl pouts.

Jack holds her close. Forehead to forehead. He thinks hard, not knowing if she received the message or not. He wishes she weren't leaving, too. But that he hopes everything is going to be ok.

The children walk away with their mother, and he allows himself to think the truth - some people don't deserve their children.

"I don't know if I can do that again," Sara says. "Losing kids that I love that much."

"I'm not signing up to do it tomorrow," Jack says, "But what we did was good."

"If they need us again, I want to be there for them, but if it's anyone else… I'm done," Sara confesses, rubbing her hand over her stomach.

He shields her from his thoughts by taking few steps away. She has a right to feel like that. To choose her own children over someone else's. To not want to be ripped apart by painful sacrificial love.

But he's never going to look at her the same again after she said those words. He can't blame her for not giving everyone of herself to strangers, but he certainly doesn't love her more for it.


	11. 1987

**1987**

Jack presses his forehead to his son's head. The chubby toddler hands grab on to each side of his father's cheeks. Charlie giggles and pulls away.

"Does he even know what you're doing?" Sara asks. Mind-sharing is intense, and she isn't sure how she feels about involuntary mind sharing. She's also a little bit jealous that her husband can do mind sharing with her son, and she cannot. Even if she doesn't exactly want to admit that fact.

"I don't know," Jack says. "But he's hungry."

"'Naa's?" Jack asks. Jack has made an effort to talk out loud ever since he'd become a father.

"Jack, use full words," Sara scolds. She's never been a fan of baby talk.

"Oh, come on, that's what he calls them!"

"But that's not what the rest of the English-speaking world calls them," Sara scolds.

"Naana!" Charlie shouts in impatience.

"Yep, here we go," Jack says, trying to open the cupboard while still holding his son. Sara comes over to grab the banana, and then grabs a butter knife to cut it into child-sized pieces.

The phone rings. Sara isn't the mind reader in the family, but she doesn't need to be one in order to know what is going on.

"How long are you going to be gone?" she asks as he hangs up the phone.

"I don't even know where I am going," he says.

"Come home safe," Sara pleads with him.

He grabs onto her, and pulls her into one of their mind-sharing kisses. She shares her fear. He shares his loneliness. She wants him to quit. He wants her be ok with him continuing to have the six of the people he works with.

Then he goes over, and kneels before his son's boaster seat. Charlie's face is covered in smashed banana, but Jack kisses it anyway. "I'll see you, bud," Jack says.

Sara stands at the window until Jack is out of sight. Then she turns to her son. "We'd better get you cleaned up, little man," she mutters. As she picks him up, she suddenly feels his longing for his daddy.

Her son is a mind reader.

She isn't sure how she feels about that.

"Daddy will be home soon," she says, and she hopes that her son can't feel her worry. She hopes that her son believes it.

-0-0-0-

"Dadadadadada!" the toddler screams as he comes in the room.

Sara decides not to say anything about the mind-reading her son has developed. She wants some confirmation that she isn't just imagining things.

He picks up his son, "Buddy?" he says in surprise.

"Da!" the toddler exclaims putting his arms around him.

"I was only for a couple of days," Jack says with a giggle.

"I missed you, too," Sara says, giving him a kiss.

"So… I think we have the answer of whether or not Charlie inherited my mind reading."

"I know, he did it right after you left," Sara says.

"This is going to make raising him a bit more complicated," Jack says.

Sara is somewhat surprised that he seems to be thinking of the whole thing as negative, "It's not going to be that bad. I mean, you had to deal with it with almost no guidance. And he has someone who's already been through it to help him."

"I had plenty of guidance," Jack says defiantly, thinking of the priest.

"Right, but it will still be easier for Charlie since you've been through it."

"Yes, but it's not going to be easier for us. You probably wished that we would have a normal child."

"There is no such thing. And I am unbelievably happy with the kid I have."

Charlie pulls on Sara's pants. He thinks about a glass of milk.

"Oh no, little man. You have to use words."

He sticks out his bottom lip, and thinks harder about a glass of milk.

"Sara… we know what he wants."

"So help me Jack, our son's first language is not going to be a silent one!" Sara says.

"Milk!" Charlie demands.

"Atta boy!" Jack says, swirling over to the fridge to pour him a glass.

-0-0-0-

**1991**

"You promised you'd be there," Charlie whines.

"I know, buddy, and I tried. But I got called into a mission. You know how it goes," Jack says.

"You didn't even say goodbye. Usually, at least you say goodbye."

"I know, I always try to say goodbye. But this time I got called away more quickly than I usually do. I really wanted to be there for your preschool graduation."

"Why don't you sing all of your songs for Daddy? That way he can have his own private preschool graduation?"

Charlie grins, and moves to the center of the living room to begin his show.

"Thanks for letting me off the hook," Jack whispers to his wife.

"Yeah, well, you are such a great dad when you are here, I can't really blame you for how often you are gone. I know you'd be here if you could be. He just doesn't know that yet. But he will, Jack."

"I hope so," Jack says. Just then one of the songs finishes, and Jack jumps up to give his son a standing ovation.

**1991**

Charlie's short legs are swinging on the bench outside of the principal's office.

Jack doesn't even knock on the principal's door, because he wants to get his son's side of the story first.

"What happened?"

"She was lying," Charlie says in a pout.

"Who was?"

"The teacher."

That certainly wasn't the answer that he was expecting, "What did she lie about?"

"She was telling us about how come baby animals look like the mommy and daddy animals that they came from. And she wasn't telling the truth."

"What was the truth?" Jack asks not entirely sure that he wants to know the answer. He's starting to get the impression that whatever sent his son to the principal's office might have something to do with the birds and the bees.

"I don't know… I didn't understand the truth. It was mostly an image in her head. Something about a colorful - except the color wasn't real - and twisty tiny chemical."

"DNA?" Jack asks.

"Yes!" Charlie says triumphantly, "That is exactly the word that she thought."

"And what was the lie?" Jack asks, feeling relieved that it wasn't what he first thought it to be.

"Well, she said that there was information that went from mommies and daddies into their children. Not just in animals, but humans, too. And sometimes the information came from the mother, and sometimes it came from the dad, and sometimes it was a mix of the two."

"And then you stood up, and called the teacher a liar," Jack says, filling in the blank from an image in his son's mind.

Charlie nods, "I know that wasn't the right thing to do."

"Good, I'm glad you realized that, and your teacher didn't really lie to you."

"But what she said and what she thought wasn't the same, so that's a lie."

"No, honey, it's a simplification."

"What?"

"It means she made it simpler so that you and the other kids in your class could understand it. If she told you the whole truth you wouldn't have known what she was talking about. So she told you just a little bit of the truth, and you understood that. Right?"

Charlie nods.

"And we're going to keep our thoughts about teachers to ourselves from now on?" Jack asks.

Charlie gives his father another nod.


End file.
